Fragments
by DandelionGirl
Summary: 100 Oneshots exploring the dynamics of CxC.
1. 001: Fallen

A/N: My first romance fanfic and first posted fanfic ever. Didn't expect my first work to be a romance story tho.

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Disclaimer: I do not own. If I did, I'd be swimming in the moolah right now.

001: Fallen

He idly watched the frozen body of water in front of him, sighing upon realizing that he'd been watching the same thing for the umpteenth time. His breath came in wisps of vapor as his eyes trailed the dissipating air with a bored countenance.

Impulsively, he sat heavily on the snow covered ground, uncaring whether or not it dampened his pants. He wasn't sulking, no he was far above that. But the little voice in his mind had insisted that he was, undeniably sulking, which irked him more.

He felt like a fool, waiting out in the cold. But he couldn't leave yet, he reasoned, at least not until his fears were confirmed and that she wouldn't come. Until then, he'd stay like the stubborn person he was and hope against hope that it wasn't too late for him to make amends.

He had on several occasions pondered over his mistakes yet refused to delve too much into the task because of fear. Fear of what might manifest, that if all he ever worked hard for might suddenly crumble because he'd neglected her far too long.

And in a moment of nostalgia, the memories assaulted him ruthlessly, mercilessly until all that remained was the numb, hollow feeling that he himself couldn't comprehend. They were two different people hailing from two different worlds.

Even Julian was reluctant about his and Cornelia's relationship, and he understood why. Because it was based on personal experience, based on Julian's poignant relationship with Nerissa and the remorse that came with it.

He didn't want that; he didn't want to fall for someone so near yet unreachable all the same. But he'd undeniably fallen nonetheless, without his knowledge, slowly succumbing to the affliction called love.

He had dismissed it at first as a sort of infatuation. To say that she was beautiful felt wrong, he'd seen women more beautiful than her, yet there was something about her than seemed magnificent in his eyes. That made her more endearing to him than other women could ever be.

It was her independence (a trait that the majority of Meridian women lacked), her boldness, her stubbornness that rivaled his own, her fierce sense of loyalty. And he loved her bluntness as much as everyone else hated it. Because he knew, that around her, he could be 'Caleb', the mere boy who became rebel leader at an age too young.

He'd trusted her with his vulnerabilities and she trusted him with hers. And whenever her cold countenance (her shield to stave off heartbreak) slipped, as she took melancholic stifled sobs, he was there, whether she liked it or not.

But their happiness was short-lived. They'd been too busy with their lives. Meridian had undergone a revolution and was in the middle of reforming itself after thirteen years of repression under Phobos.

With his home world in such a delicate state, he couldn't leave to visit her. She'd been busy too, incessantly leaving for her Guardian duties. And he had noted, without meaning to, that their visits grew shorter and shorter.

The weeks turned to months and the months turned to years. Their relationship had lingered, collecting dust over the years. But memories of her remained, catching him in random intervals, sometimes fleetingly while the other times it left him wondering, with a dull ache, why they had separated. But he knew one truth; he was the one who abandoned her.

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He couldn't take it anymore, the longing that gradually grew within his subconscious, he had to know whether or not their relationship could be salvaged, which was why he had sent her a note of invitation to rendezvous with him. If by any chance she didn't come, then he'd leave Earth forever; he didn't want any more heartbreaks.

He was brought out of his reverie when the lingering winds quickened, ghosting down the collar of his coat and causing a shiver to run down his spine. Standing from his sitting position, he happily dusted the snow off his pants, unable to hide his sheepish countenance upon seeing that the snow indeed dampened his pants and that he couldn't hide the large darker spot, contrasting against the blue of his jeans.

Inwardly vexed, he was too caught in his thoughts to realize that a presence was approaching. It was only when he heard the snapping sound of a twig did he realize that someone was behind him.

He muttered a Meridian oath upon being caught off guard and stiffened, schooling his scowling expression to the neutral facade he was accustomed to. The footfalls were hesitant and slow. He had a suspicion that this was an enemy.

His hand slowly reached the sheathed dagger on the front left side of his belt and thumbed the blade an inch out of its sheath, preparing to throw it at the perpetrator if he/she dared to come any closer.

He heard his name being called and he sharply turned around, disbelief marring his face. In front of him, separated by a few meters was _her_ . Her golden hair was askew, her scarves hastily done, one of her shoe laces were untied and her hands sans gloves were an unhealthy pale pallor.

She'd come in haste, he thought somewhat selfishly satisfied that he was part of her top priority. Their eyes met and a there was a pregnant pause as they inspected each other as if waiting for one of them to be a mere illusion and disappear. Neither of them did.

He watched her, unable to comprehend as she suddenly ran forward, her hair floating around her as she approached. Arms akimbo, her limpid blue eyes were mirroring the mirth he knew were reflected in his own.

He felt a surge of elation overwhelming him, threatening to burst forth and he too reciprocated by running towards her, towards his happiness and sadness, towards a life of hardship and strife, towards the imminent beginning. Her gaze momentarily faltered upon seeing his wet pants but she continued running anyway.

separated by a few feet, she tripped on her untied shoe laces and in a minuscule second, momentarily suspended, he watched the transition of her expression from dazed to serenity. Because they both knew, that no matter how fleeting and evanescent their emotions were, he'd catch her when she fell, whether she liked it or not...

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Finished! So tell me, is it good or horrible? R&R please. I might do a lighter continuation of this one. Flames will be accepted too, if they bear merit.


	2. 002: Stranger

Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.

A/n: I thank the reviewers! You know who you are. :)

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002: Stranger

A tremble arced throughout Heatherfield as a subway made towards its destination. The air smelled dank and vaguely of the acrid stench of pollution as tendrils of car fumes lingered sluggishly in the air almost melding with the ominous nimbostratus hovering above. Down below, past the towering shapes of silver buildings and their regular shaped windows, past the smoky alleyways, past the multitude of fluxing cars on the road, a teenager ambled, blending in the crowd.

She was walking, aimlessly, silently following the crowd after the day's toll. Her eyes were downcast with a profound sadness, her thoughts brooding, an expression much too serious for one her age. Held in one hand was a dog-eared note sent hastily by a certain Passling and written on it was an invitation to a rendezvous point. _Their_ rendezvous point.

At the spur of the moment, she had ran impulsively towards the destination, forgetting her gloves altogether. But now, she was doubtful, her pace slower.

_'I would indirectly admit myself being a masochist if I went there, running into his arms only to be hurt once more', _hermental voice gave a half hysterical laugh at that.

_'But maybe...I already am,'_ she thought wryly, noticing the unhealthy hue of her cold hands.

_'But I suppose, that's what love does... It makes you insane-'_

There was a sudden tug on her heart, a feeling forcing the breath out of her lungs and this time, the asphyxiating fumes of pollution wasn't the cause.

_'Am I crazy enough to admit that my feelings for him are inexorably the four-letter-words?', _she pondered upon the fact that her mind itself was betraying her without realizing that her pace was slowing. Her eyebrows were creased, deep in thought.

She stayed rooted to her position, a passerby momentarily stumbling behind her who muttered a profanity. But the routinely crowd resumed, the people behind her working their way around her, like a river against a steady boulder.

_'But then, there's a lot of people in this world, hardships more greater than mine', _she eyed the people surrounding her, as men and women weaved their way around the crowd like a synchronized performance act.

_'So many fates intercepting yet, never meeting. So close yet... so far', _as she observed their varying faces and expressions.

_'Not only my problems matter. These people, they have their own troubles, hidden under masks of happiness', _her eyes impassively strayed to an odd couple, a stout man who tipped his hat with a smile as a greeting to a nearby taller woman; another stranger to her.

_'Stranger...'_ the word reverberated in her mind, like an echo of a sound, the uncanniness painfully tugging at her heartstrings as she thought of a particular rebel.

_He _was a stranger to her, a mere illusive shadow lurking in her conscience. There was no sublime proof that he was hers and vice versa. Their courting had been tentative, so subtle that it sometimes left her confused. But after years of his absence, she gradually lost hope.

She knew of his initial reluctance regardless his feelings. Because when one held such a dangerous position as Rebel Leader, the burden of so many was upon his shoulders.

Where every nanosecond was infinitely precious like air, where every life was infinitely transient and greatly mortal, to be the salvation required equally great sacrifice. His was to discard all sense of selfishness, to abandon his childhood, to mar what remains of his sanity.

And despite his brusque and arrogant facade, he was just a boy, matured too young.

She was brought out of her reverie as something dark stained the pavement beneath her feet, something reminiscent of blood. The crowd's sound of surprise and urgent footfalls reached her ears. And as her mental voice screamed that danger was coming, her senses felt unusually languid before everything fluxed by, sounds muffled to her ears.

Blood and adrenaline rushed through her veins and she tried frantically to calm her thoughts. After all, through her years as an experienced guardian, charging blindly into a fight wasn't ideal.

But she was caught of guard nonetheless, eyes dilating into small pinpoints, face tilted towards the sky as drops of rain fell onto her, trailing rivulets down the contours of her face. Ignoring her wet tresses plastered on her face, she watched amongst the dispersing crowd, as the odd couple briskly left, the stout man holding an umbrella over the woman's head, both smiling amicably to each other. And Cornelia briefly noted, albeit subconsciously that once, not to long ago, she had the same lovestruck smile on her face.

Arms akimbo her hands reached for the sky. Relishing the feel of the rain, she loosely pirouetted, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy as the corners of her lips tilted into a smile.

_'I may be a masochist, he may just be a stranger to me, but perhaps he is all I need.'_

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Review please. Flames will be accepted if they bear merit. However, they will be merely a thing of amusement for me if its just senseless insults on my person. :)

But truthfully, I don't think this is my best effort, which is why reviews are appreciated.

I am considering changing the title to 'Fragments'. tell me your opinions then, whether its too cheesy or something.


	3. 003: Coldness

I thank my reviewers. Your words inspire me to stop mooching and to get off my lazy bum. Being in a science college is strenuous not to mention the fact that we are busy from morning to afternoon exercising (and studying) our butts off. And I am gathering whatever meager leftover amount of time I have.

Oh dear, here I am complaining as if I'm the only one with problems. I apologize.

Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.

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003:

She came barreling towards him and momentarily all that he saw was her golden tresses, encompassing him like a blanket.

He heard her peals of laughter, the pleasant tinkering sound seemed to echo throughout the clearing, reverberating in his mind. And as he looked up she was there her ethereal face clearly smiling. The familiar scent of lavender permeated from her hair as tendrils of of them formed a curtain around their faces while the others pooled at his throat.

She shifted, clearly embarrassed to be in such a compromising situation. And as she does so, a few wayward strands of her hair feathered his nostrils, causing him to sneeze directly in her face. There was a loud girlish yelp, followed by a string of incoherent words (which Caleb suspected were her muttered curses), followed by his mumbled sheepish apologies.

She sat up, directing a glare full of murderous intent at him with the occasional twitch of her brows. There was a pout on her pale lips and despite her oozing animosity, he couldn't help but find her cute.

He threw his head back, laughing light-heartedly. And upon hearing his carefree tone, Cornelia couldn't help but join in. He gasped, hands recoiled as they made contact with her cold ones. "You're hands... They're cold."

Her countenance sobered and she told him that she lost her gloves on her way. Almost immediately, an impish grin settled itself on her face and his expression grew increasingly weary before realizing what her intentions were.

"Cornelia! Don't you dare- Ack!" but his protests came too late as a hiss escaped his lips. Her hands were pressed to his bare back under the layers of his thick clothing. The sudden coldness of them sent shivers down his spine and he tried to twitch away, much to no avail.

"Nice and warm", she sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into his embrace all too aware of the death glare he directed to the top of her head. She smiled nonetheless.


	4. 007: Mistress

AU. My humble attempt at a Romance with slight supernatural elements. -crosses fingers- hope this works!

First, I would like to thank _**spartangal22**_ and _**mad4life**_ for reviewing this humble work of mine from chapter one. Second, I would like to say that my story has 100 hits, and it wouldn't be possible without you readers. And thirdly, to the silent readers, I hope you review once in a while (I'm not forcing you though). -throws confetti-

As the overly dramatic ninnies say, "The show must go on!"

Disclaimer: I. do. not. own.

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007: Mistress

He waited, perched inconspicuously on an ancient tree a few decades younger than he.

Silence, before his thoughts intervene; like a knife piercing through silk. 'Wow, I didn't realize that I was _that_ old.'

Tense for immeasurable hours, eternity at its best. He was accustomed to it. Being a nightly predator requires him to wait. And he does.

_'Devoutly, if I may say so myself'_

One...

Two...

Three...

_'And there goes three seconds of my immortal life, though I don't see why three seconds should be immensely precious when I, myself don't even value an hour', _he thinks, thoughts light though he knew,no- he felt (and at this he mentally nods) the hint of broodiness and cynicism laden like second skin.

He was subconsciously aware, aware of the implications, the hidden meaning of his thoughts; that he would consider Death, the very element he thrived on, the name he was associated with, as foe, instead of ally.

And as if at the edge of a blade, he loses equilibrium, falling gracelessly onto the ground, onto the thriving foliage of thistle underneath. _'Ouch!'_

He spits out mud ridiculously, not befitting of the graceful nature of his kind and rakes his fingers though his hair to remove the caked dirt and grass.

_'Rest in peace, oh green one', _he mentally says and in his mind's eye, his voice sounds as nasally as the pompous noblemen he _loathed_.

His brows suddenly furrow, eyes darting across the forest. Something wasn't right. It was quiet, far too quiet than normal.

The kind of expectant silence that grated on his nerves and made his gut clench. Wariness overtook him and all he saw was red tinted with silver.

Blurred visions, he blinks rapidly, trying to pry through the obscuring veils but alas, it was futile.

he tenses, taut, like overstrung violin strings. And he could almost hear the eerie rhapsody enticing him, to plummet and fall, receive his demise with arms akimbo. There was a low buzzing in the air, brimming with magic.

Someone, someone with immense magical energy, enough of it to silence the natural noise of the woods was approaching. Surely, no-one versed in magic would be fool enough to wander in _his_ territory without concealing their aura.

Either it was _her..._or a trap laid to bait and capture him.

_Well_, he snorted, _whoever was crass enough to try to capture him with such a crude plan probably had a death wish...or was plain stupid. He was an elder among his kind, having lived past two centuries. Surely, when he's survived __**that**__ long, they didn't think him __**that**__ stupid did they? _

_Well, of course, that was before his clan found out that he had a human mistress and was ostracized for it._

Snarling once again upon the broodiness of his thoughts, he summons the shadows to obscure him, like a phantom cloak, smothering him until he was naught to the eyes.

And he waits once more, on the gnarled ancient tree as if nothing happened.

Time was insignificant, intangible even; a pendulum; tedious, going back and forth, back and forth.

The unnatural silence echoes throughout his mind, reverberating loud and clear and then, like a drop of water, trickles to non-existence to resume natural flow.

He was sure then, if the others weren't valid testaments to his suspicion, that indeed, someone else was in _his_ forest.

Moments later, his quarry, a hooded equestrienne (female, judging from the slight figure) manifested from the shadows and came into his line of sight. _'This was the threat? A woman?'_

Disbelief marring his face, he was brought out of his musing as the equestrienne pulls her reins, removing her hood, her back to him. With practiced grace, she gets off her horse in one fluid movement.

A protesting neigh, balancing on hind legs, the black stallion shuffles, panicked, clear signs of distress. She tries to soothe it, to no avail.

_'It senses me, it is afraid of me, it can sniff me out from here._ _I have the scent of a murderer and predator; of split blood.' _

_'Didn't think your thoughts could be so...depressing. By the way, I think you smell nice. Well nice enough anyway, its not like you reek of decay or anything.'_

_'Oh really? Well, that's nice to know- Wait a minute! Who the heck are you?!"_

There was laughter, clear and sweet, like a nightingale. _'Beloved, I didn't think you'd easily let your guard down. Clearly, you are lacking in the barrier area.' _Another laugh. _'Now, if you don't mind showing yourself, I prefer to be able to see you rather than talk like a blind woman.'_

Chagrined, he did the mental equality to a stomp, fangs lengthening in the process. _Why was it, that when he put up his highest mental barrier, so impenetrable that even the highest ranked of his kind could not even perceive his thoughts, she would barge into his mind unnoticed? It irked him, frustrated him even, how she would slip easily from his guard no matter how hard he tried. Like trying to contain water with a fisherman's net._

_'Wish I could see you now. You look cute when you pout.'_

He snarls. _'I don't recall inviting you in this monologue.' _A sharp, defensive hiss.

_'Ah, true. But you were broadcasting your thoughts and I could sense it a mile away. And there's no need to be so touchy. Sheesh, you and your dead man's pride.'_

Theshadows flee from him as easily as him shucking off his coat. Stealthily and with inhuman agility, he jumps off the tree, silver eyes glowing with a teasing menace as he edges closer to her. _"And what about my dead man's pride?" _He asks in a velvety baritone.

She gives a start, a small curse forming halfway before she stifles herself; a woman of her former status as part of the Royal Council shouldn't indulge in using in vulgar words.

She turns sharply, finding herself nose-to-nose with her suitor, whose face was partially shunned by shadow, wearing his trademark mask. He rarely shows his face to others, a mystery that delved too deep into his past.

_'He's here, he's here!' _The litany sang to her like an endearing siren song and she felt the urge to swat and maim the voice in her mind.

Her breath hitched and she swore that fireworks as bright as the annual cultural festivals were erupting in her stomach._ 'He's the only one...'_

The agitated stallion beside her struggles to break free and she, without thought, without hesitation, releases its reins.

The beast beside her runs without looking back, and her hands fall to her side eliciting a whisper from the threadbare cotton of her sleeve. _'He's the only one who makes me think with reckless abandon.'_

She tilts her head, taking a glance of him from under her spidery eyelashes, natural rogue on her cheeks, contrasting against her ivory-pale complexion caused by the moon.

They both stand, in partial embrace, a perfect portrait of contrast, two ends of a spectrum. Born mutual enemies, fated for destruction.

Her willowy form serene and ethereal, haloed by the full moon. Hair unbound from it usual feathered headdress, cascading down her back like a waterfall of sunlight.

While he, a stained being in the shadows; the perfect personification of Death's advocate or perhaps, Death himself.

Her hands reaches out, fingertips ghosting the contours of his face. He closes his eyes, a gesture of trust, skin sensitive to her touch. _Only for her touch._

Slender hands reach to unbind the silk cords of the ebony mask he wore, his only protection; his identity.

Even if she was his damnation, the cause of his destruction, his downfall, whatever-they-prefer-to-name-it, he didn't care, not at all.

He was inexorably drawn to her, _like a moth to fire._

And he thinks darkly, that if love was a cursed affliction, if it was death personified, he'd gladly succumb, he'd gladly burn for her nonetheless.

_'Besides, I'm already dead anyway', _his inner voice mutters sardonically and he could not help but grin his toothy grin.

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A/N: As you might have noticed, this is labeled 007. Do not be alarmed, tho. I haven't updated 004, 005 and 006. My updates won't come in chronologically or according to order, you see? But assuming that this is made to be a series of one-shots, I don't see any way it could disrupt any flow or whatsoever.


	5. 004: Coffee

AU. Rated T for a curse word floating around or two and _**-very slight-**_ suggestive themes. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks for your review, _**mad4life!**_

Disclaimer: I do not own.

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004: Coffee

I was never particularly fond of being stared at. I wasn't fond of a particular persistent suitor either. And when you combine both of them into the equation, well, lets just say that it triggers my volatile mood swings.

And once they were triggered, it would be wise to steer clear from me unless, of course you had a death wish...or wanted a limb to be handed back to you.

But despite the irony, I am in that predicament, with the most difficult suitor yet. And he was knocking on my office door, in that persistent manner of his. _'__Speak of the devil.' _

"_Came here to ask me out with another lame pickup line?_" I asked nonchalantly, eyes still downcast, observing the piece of paper in my hands.

Said person stiffened and from underneath my eyelashes, I could see that he was fidgeting slightly.

"_Got eyes on your the back of your head?"_ He said, recovering from my verbal assault with an equally witty remark. He was a fast thinker; I could give him that much credit.

I looked up from my worksheets to stare at him; _my CEO from hell._

He was intimidatingly tall, approximately a foot taller than me, wearing aviator sunglasses. He was leaning on the door frame of my office, the upper part of his pristine white shirt unbuttoned, red tie hanging loosely.

The sleeves were rolled up, a testament to the fact that he preferred to dress casual. Overall, with his scruffy hair and good looking features, he looked like the cover of a prestigious men's magazine and I couldn't help but find him a bit attractive. _'Damn his good looks.'_

"_And why pray tell, do you think that I came here just for the sake of courting you, Cornelia? Makes me wonder whether or not you are always so... PMS-y?" _

He walked over to me, with a gait full of confidence...or was it arrogance? I didn't know, I never could decipher him, which is why I loathed him.

Handling him was always like a game of chess, you had to be one step forward or a good strategist.

There were times that I thought I had figured him out, but he always proved me wrong. He was an enigma and I never liked surprises.

"_Because its always the same for you testosterone-driven men"_, I added with gesticulations of my hands. I was never able to control my temper around him.

"_I'm not libido starved!"_

"_I'm not the one who said it," _I said with feigned nonchalance and looked at him with the most coldest glare I could manage. The glare that made many men cower. He didn't even flinch, which irked me more. It's either he's daft or just too persistent. Or both.

We both stared at each other for a while, challenging the other to turn away first. He looked away first, and I couldn't help but feel a little smug, no matter how immature it was.

"_Look, the reason that I'm here is not because I wanted to see you, so don't get your hopes up."_ Mentally, I seethed at that but I didn't know why. _"I need your help"_, his gaze went downwards as if he was ashamed.

That immediately piqued my interest and my demeanor turned serious._ "What about?"_

"_I need names of every head of departments, whatever purchases made this month and the month before, names of recent clients and employees absent this past month."_

"_What for?"_

His expression hardens and he leans over and searches my face for any signs of pretense,_ "I ask of you to be discreet regarding this matter." _A sigh._ "I suspect that someone, someone in this company is responsible for embezzlement and I want him/her caught as soon as possible, else we face the consequences and our reputation, marred."_

"_Aren't you being a little bias by placing this responsibility on me? What if, though its not true, but what if I'm the one responsible? Surely you don't think I'd come clean and be all saintly and accept the consequences do you?"_

"_Believe me, I think about these matters thoroughly. Besides, you're in my father's confidence. He trusts you, then so do I. No arguments needed there." _He punctuates with a diagonal slash of his hand.

"_Well, when you put it that way, I can't really deny it, now can I?" _And inside, I bitterly laugh at my own rhetorical question as the realization suddenly strikes me like being mauled with a sack of bricks.

He didn't simply become CEO because he was the rightful inheritor of the company. He became one because he genuinely cared for the company's wellbeing. He was equal parts wit and frugality; the very epitome of a good leader.

"_Well then? What will it be? Coffee, tea or me?"_ He asked in a chipper mood.

"_hah?"_ I asked in a non-ladylike manner befuddled by his sudden change mood.

I was so deep in my thoughts to not realize that he said something. My face turned as crimson as his tie. _'Was he Bipolar?'_

He repeated his sentence once more and in hopes of getting rid of him, I hastily answered, _"Coffee."_

"_Great then! Will be seeing you tomorrow then at seven,"_ he grinned mischievously and ran out off my office.

There was a lapse of two or three minutes before the realization struck me. And I stayed there frozen in shock and defeat. He just tricked me into going out with him.

_'Damn that man's brilliance,_' I uttered to myself, though I couldn't hide the faintest trace of a smile tugging at my lips.

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So? whaddya think? I won't know unless you review then _**-hint hint-**_


	6. 005: Nostalgia

A/N: This author probably has a death wish because she's having her 'O'-levels right now and is supposed to be revising for chemistry instead of writing this. Standard disclaimers apply.

Story inspired by the song 'Sometime Around Midnight' by The Airborne Toxic Event.

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005: Nostalgia

Across the rim of his cup, on the peeling grey wall, was an old poster of Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. The bartender had a love for Greek mythology and Caleb was left to contemplate. The bland, peeling grey walls seemed seemed tantalising against the backdrop of mellow music that the band was playing. He checked his wristwatch- it seemed that no one was coming.

Slender fingers brushed against his shoulder. Her touch was hesitant and tentative but her voice wasn't. "Hey, it's just the two of us tonight. The other girls couldn't attend- busy schedule."

"You think after two hours of waiting, I wouldn't know that?" He raised his hand to call the waitress to no avail.

"Yet here you are; still waiting," her voice was airy but her words tugged on his heartstrings. She sat on the stool next to his and he saw that she was without a ring.

"How's your life in mid-thirties, Cornelia?" Having attracted the waitress' attention, he proceeded to order.

"Divorced," she shrugged nonchalantly but he knew her well enough to see the fleeting sadness. He reached out and gripped her hand in a gesture of comfort.

"You want me to beat the bastard into the next century?" He cracked his knuckles but his smile was playful.

Her countenance turned into one of mock distress, "Thanks but I don't want to end up cleaning your mess. So how's your life?"

"Ugh, screw me," he groaned placing his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples.

"Already did, ten years ago," she was tracing her finger on the carvings on the heavy wooden table probably made by infatuated teens. Ah, to feel young and invincible again.

He took the opportunity to look at the profile of her downcast face. A few tendrils of blond hair framed her face. He saw a grey hair amidst the golden.

"Why don't we start over? Hi, my name is Caleb"

She smiled the poignant smile that made him feel nostalgic. Maybe it was the song the band was playing.

She leaned so close towards him that he could see the permanent scar on her throat and the ageing lines on her face. He could smell her perfume- it was redolent of flowers. "We've had too much of a history to start over."

For the rest of the night all he thought of were her words. Even after she left they echoed in his mind and he continued to think about her melancholic smile. He thought of all the possibilities and like weeds, there was no end to them.

Because even though their tumultuous relationship was over years ago there were still vestiges of those old feelings: ashes of a flame that was so bright, that they consumed everything in its path.


End file.
